The Gift
by CeeCeeSings
Summary: A small, multi-chapter story about the endurance of love, how we touch each other, even after we are gone. An epilogue of sorts to "A History of Moments". Events and characters are based on my monolith to Cheslie, so new readers might miss some things without reading AHoM. WARNING: STORY TAKES PLACE AFTER CHARLES HAS DIED. It's sad, uplifting, loving, hopeful.
1. Chapter 1

Late April, 1937

She wasn't sure why she felt so calm. Wait, no – calm wasn't quite right. _Insulated._ Yes, that was better. As if someone had pushed her deep underwater, warm, still, cloudy water, where she could, somehow, still be breathing. Her mind was somewhere restrictive, but comforting. Cocooned.

Ah, but – a voice was breaking through. Yes. She knew it. It was Beryl Mason – Patmore, she once was, for a very long time. She was sitting across from her, a concerned look on her face. And another person was there, a younger woman, in her thirties, with big eyes and brown hair and a stomach rounded with child. She knew _her_ as well. It was Daisy, of course. Obviously. Why hadn't she recognized her immediately?

"Elsie," Beryl was saying. They had done away with formalities nearly a decade ago, when the cook had retired for good. They were old woman who had known each other for decades, and it seemed mad to carry on with formal names that were no longer even their proper surnames. Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore were of a former life, a different time, a fading era.

"Beryl?"

Her friend exchanged a relieved glance with Daisy, reached out and took Elsie's hands in her own work-worn ones. Elsie squeezed and suddenly realized her face was slick with tears.

Daisy stood, easing her cumbersome stomach around the table. "Mrs. Hughes." The young woman breathed, shakily. "Mrs. _Carson_ , I mean. I'll make some tea." She glanced nervously over at Beryl, who nodded. As she walked by to get to the stove, she did something that confused Elsie: she squeezed her shoulder, gently. It felt strange, out of place: this girl – no, she was a woman, now, though Elsie had known her since she was a girl – this _woman_ was usually on the receiving end of some motherly or teacherly gesture from one of the others. Not _giving_ comfort, support. Regardless, Elsie pulled one of her hands free from Beryl's grip, and placed it on Daisy's, who looked surprised.

"Thank you, Daisy," she wasn't sure exactly for what. She also wasn't totally clear why the young woman was here, in the cottage, in her _home_ , right at this very moment. Not that both she and Beryl weren't regular visitors, but because she was having a hard time piecing things together.

"Daisy, if yeh will, add a bit of something extra to that tea, yeh hear me?"

"Yes, Mrs. M," she replied, and pulled her hand gently away from Elsie's, busied herself at the stove. Elsie watched her for a few moments, still puzzling it all out. Then she turned back to her friend, who seemed very close to tears herself.

"It's all a bit of a shock, I'm sure," Beryl nearly whispered, wrangling her other hand again. "You were doin' alright there, for a bit, then yeh just…went somewhere else."

"Yes…." She started, reaching back, trying to remember where she had been earlier today. Why was it all so fuzzy, unclear?

She glanced out the window: it was a perfect late-spring Yorkshire day, from where she was sitting. Clouds scuttling across a dark blue sky, the branches of the freshly green trees tossed with a light wind, the sun shining gently on everything. She stared out at the day, the perfect day, and then her eyes shifted slightly down to the loveseat below the window. She frowned at it. It was just…their worn-out, red velvet loveseat, where, over the past dozen or so years, she'd sipped hundreds of cups of tea, read countless novels, had endless late-night conversations with her husband….

That was it.

Charlie. _Charlie. Where was_ Charlie?

Then, suddenly, her mind surfaced from the murky depths of shock and grief: she had been with him just last night, sitting on that loveseat, he, holding her cold toes with his shaking hand, raising an eyebrow at something she'd said.

Because the next time she'd seen him, he was already gone. He had been there, on that loveseat, but who Charles Carson was, had been, was gone. She had thought he'd dozed off in his favorite spot after leaving their bed, which he did some nights, when the tremors were especially bad. Oftentimes, his absence woke her. As it had early this morning. But she knew the minute she saw his face that her Charlie was not there anymore.

She could hear the birds singing to the dawn, when she went over and brushed her hand across his too-still face. He was warm, and she leaned over and kissed his forehead, as she had a thousand times, and sighed. She had felt so heavy, so calm.

And now she stared at the loveseat, as if she could conjure him back to his usual corner, than any second she'd see his long legs stretched out in front of him, resting on the matching rug. But nothing changed. The loveseat remained forlorn and empty. She felt terrible for it.

She turned back to her friend.

"I remember, Beryl," her throat felt like sandpaper, and she gratefully gulped the tea Daisy set in front of her, especially for the addition of whatever alcoholic potable she had added. "I remember, now, about Charlie. I've been a'sittin' here, trying to figure out if my mind was broken." She paused, took another gulp of tea. It burned going down, but somehow, it felt good, right. She couldn't understand why she sounded so calm.

"But it's not my _mind_ that's broken, 'tis my heart," and she rested her head on the table, and cried.

oooOOOooo

Two Weeks Later

Miraculously, strangely, she was alone.

It seemed as if since the day Charlie died, their home had been crowded with people. People cooking, people crying, people laughing, children shrieking and singing round after round of "Frog He Would A-Wooing Go", led by Will Bates, the verses becoming more and more muddled and ridiculous as the children added new lyrics, delighted by their own cleverness, leading the adults to shoo them outside, then begin rounds of their _own_ songs.

Even after most of the mourners – if you could call people so joyfully remembering Charlie that – left for the evening, Elsie noticed _someone_ would always stay – Beryl, Anna, Daisy, sometimes alone, sometimes, with their husbands, and once, touchingly, Thomas Barrow - until she drifted off on the battered loveseat.

But now.

She was sitting here, where she had ensconced herself the past two weeks. She could barely stand to be in their bedroom, let alone sleep in their shared bed. No, she'd rather suffer a sore back out here, than a sore heart in her own bed.

Her loneliness was so enormous, it almost felt like another person was here, just around the corner, and she wasn't quick enough to catch them, other than out of the corner of her eye. She decided she needed to sit with it, this new loneliness, reckon with it, now that the noise and tears and songs and conversations of the first burst of mourning had retreated from her home, from the home she and Charlie had shared for nearly twelve years.

And she was alone. Oh, she'd gotten more than a few offers to leave here, the cottage, and live with one or another group of people who truly cared for her. And she wasn't discounting those offers; she didn't think she was made to live a solitary life. However, though it hurt, desperately, this time on her own just felt _right._

She picked up her much-loved, much-worn copy of _The Hound of the Baskervilles._ She had decided about a month ago to reread all of the Sherlock Holmes stories and novels, in order, as spring became summer. She had just begun _The Hound_ when…when…everything had happened. Now, as she turned to the place marked by an old train ticket, she rubbed her finger over the inscription on the front flyleaf, written there over thirty years ago, and smiled.

She had just found her place when someone knocked at the door. _And so it begins..._

She laid the book carefully on the loveseat, rose to answer the polite knocking. Her curiosity was piqued; most people hadn't sat on ceremony these past few weeks, most bustling in with little more than a perfunctory rap. But right now, someone was waiting patiently for her to let them in.

She opened it to the tall, sturdy form of Kathryn Clemmens – now Forster – blue eyes as bright as the early May sky. She and her Dr. James had been at the funeral, Elise was nearly certain, though those few days were quite hazy and muddled in her mind. But her sister's long-time nurse and caretaker was a memorable woman, in many ways.

"Elsie," she said, reaching her hands out. Elsie gripped them tightly.

"Kathryn," she replied. "It's _so_ good to see you. Won't you come in?"

The nurse sat as Elsie busied herself making tea, setting several of the endless number of biscuits Daisy had made onto a small plate. And though she loved so many of the people who had been with her the past few weeks, she was glad to see Kathryn, whom she liked and admired and appreciated, but who hadn't known Charlie well enough to be a true mourner herself. Someone kind, but neutral.

Elsie sat across from her, and the nurse smiled, almost shyly.

"I didn't want to intrude, you know," she began. "I would have come sooner, or called, even, after we saw you and the…services. But this seemed like something to do in person." She shrugged and took a sip of her tea. She caught Elsie's gaze with those eyes of hers. "Your wedding anniversary is in a few weeks, isn't it?"

"Yes…yes it is. Twelve years, it would've been." And Elsie knew that, another time, another day, that thought would make her weep. But in this particular moment, all she could feel was grateful. Grateful to have so much time with a man she had loved far longer than she'd been married to him. She smiled across at Kathryn, who took her hand again.

"It's good to see you smile, Elsie. Because I am here…I am here to give you your anniversary gift."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 **A/N: Lovely readers! Sorry for making anyone panic that the first chapter was the ONLY chapter. This WILL be a much shorter story than AHoM, likely only 4-5 chapters. I have a series of little stories planned, I think, set in my own pre-, canon and post-canon" world; and Charlie will be around in nearly all of the others. This little epilogue has been sitting with me for a bit, so I wanted to share it with you all first. ~CeeCee**

 **N/B: I also realized after this chapter that this story is going to make very little sense (or, at least, will have far less significance) without reading AHoM, or, at the very least, Chapters 26-31.**

"My anniversary gift? I – I – don't understand," Elise replied, breathless.

"My apologies, Elsie. I should explain – a little, at least," Kathryn paused, the corner of her mouth twitching into a half-smile. "Mr. Carson was a thoughtful gift-giver, I believe?"

"Indeed he was," Elsie's sighed, grinned a little, fought the lump in her throat. "Many people, especially those who worked under him, would find it hard to believe, but Charlie was a sentimentalist, nearly to a fault." She paused, smiled fondly. "Though he'd probably say 'traditionalist' instead."

"He was traditional, certainly – but he seemed to be more open-minded each time we met," Kathryn was now actually smiling at her. "I can't _imagine_ who influenced him."

"I suppose you have a point," Elsie replied, smiling back. "For instance – for our first anniversary, his gift was two tickets – two _paper_ tickets – to Lytham St. Annes."

"That's when I first met Mr. Carson," Kathryn responded, a soft look on her face. "That's when he and Becky first met…"

Both women sat for a moment, then each reached out to grasp the other's hand. Both Charlie and Becky were gone now. _But_ we _are still here, to remember them, to remember our love of them_ , Elsie thought. Then said, "Now, you must be out with it, this anniversary gift of mine. I insist," she kept her voice light, but her heart was pounding. It almost felt as if Charlie were still _here._

"I don't have it with me," Kathryn shook her head. "It's not – it's not that sort of gift. Mr. Carson came to me earlier this spring, to help him plan it. He arranged nearly every element on his own, when he could, but needed my help with some of the, well, shall we say, _administrative_ elements involved. And now, it's nearly completed. It's not _my_ gift to give, but I've been left with the honor of doing so."

"And ye can't just _tell_ me what it's all about?"

"No, Mr. Carson was very determined that it be a _surprise,_ " Kathryn replied, smiling. "He insisted that you know as little as possible about it, until the very day he was ready to give it to you."

"I suppose he knew I always enjoyed a good mystery," Elsie replied, glancing over at her abandoned novel, waiting patiently for her on the loveseat.

"And, in that case, even _me_ being here, has given you a clue," Kathryn responded, and Elsie suddenly realized something, through her own haze of grief and the other woman's generally reserved demeanor: the nurse was _delighted_ to be here, to be able to finish what Charlie had begun. For her, Elsie. And for _them,_ she and Charlie, as a couple.

She pushed her sadness aside, for the moment. "Well, I assume if he asked for _your_ assistance, it must have something to do with Becky, my gift?"

"Right in one," Kathryn replied. "I think he'd be terribly disappointed that you knew even _that_ much, but it couldn't be avoided. I believe I was the only other person of your acquaintance that was part of the plan, at least, so far."

"What do you mean, 'so far'"? Elsie couldn't account for what she was feeling. It was a….strange feeling. She felt…excited. Hopeful.

"Well, much like your first anniversary gift, this one starts with train tickets to Lytham St. Annes," Kathryn began, pulling a sheet of stationary out of her pocket. Elsie recognized Charlie's handwriting immediately as the other woman smoothed it out and set it on the table between them. "The trip was, of course, initially going to be a complete surprise, but I'll need your assistance inviting the others."

"The others?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson wrote me, right before…right before. It had a list of people he wanted to…to attend. The gift-giving," Kathryn smiled up at her, then consulted her letter. "Elsie, do you think that William and Eliza Bates, Polly and William Parker and Reginald and Viola Talbot would be able to take a journey with us to the seaside? Oh, and George Crawley and Sybil Branson"

"Well, we'll have to ask their parents," Elsie replied, trying not to laugh whilst trying to decipher exactly what Charlie had been up to in the months before he died, what he had planned for _her._ "Not a single soul you just named is over the age of sixteen. And that's only Master George and Miss Sybbie; the others are much younger."

"They're _children_?"

"Indeed they are, lovely, the lot of 'em. The offspring of a former ladies' maid, a valet, a farmer, a cook-turned-school teacher, a former chauffeur, the heir to an English dynasty, and a former race car driver. I'll let you sort it out, who's who, because I can't quite figure it all out, meself," Elsie laughed, and it felt good. What, exactly, had Charlie planned, to include the children?

"Vivi Talbot is the youngest child of Lady Mary Talbot, Crawley, she once was, the lady of yonder manor house. She was also Charlie's goddaughter," Elsie told Kathryn gently. "The rest of them, all, are children that he loved. That _we_ loved. Love."

"Remarkable," Kathryn breathed, and stood. Elsie was startled to see the woman close to tears. "What a remarkable person your husband was."

Elsie felt tears spring to her eyes as well, partially from sheer surprise at Kathryn's words. She wasn't a woman who doled out compliments lightly. "That he was, among other things, including a terrible curmudgeon and a rather good singer, when he was in the mood."

Both women laughed a little, wiping their cheeks dry.

"So, when does this trip to the seaside take place?" Elsie finally said, walking Kathryn to the door.

"As soon as you can arrange it with all of the required guests – and their parents," Kathryn smiled again, her face slightly distracted.

"I've been known to organize a trip or two in my time," Elsie replied. "I'll get them sorted out and settled, as soon as I can. Perhaps Wednesday next?" That would be the day after her wedding anniversary.

Kathryn nodded, then turned to her in the doorway. "You said that Mr. Carson was a sentimentalist, despite what some might think, including himself. Well, so am I, I must admit, at least at times. The work we – James and I – do requires us to be practical most of the time." She paused, and Elsie thought of the couple, dedicating their lives to bettering the lives of people like Becky. You'd _have_ to be practical, or else fall apart.

"In any case, I never said anything to you, to either of you, but that day – that day Mr. Carson met Becky for the first time – changed me. Or…pushed me to change things, things between James and I. We loved each other, then, already, but everything was about our work, or seemed to be. And neither of us wanted to give that up, the work, it was too important. The two of you…the fact that a man like Mr. Carson…that you loved each other enough that he not only accepted your sister, but _embraced_ her, as much as he was able to. It changed me, the pair of you, changed me. Changed _us_ , James and I. For the better," the nurse was openly weeping now, and Elsie was more than a little dumbfounded. Kathryn brushed her tears away, squared her shoulders.

"Please ring me, as soon as you can. And hopefully, we'll see each other, Wednesday next," she leaned over and kissed Elsie's cheek. "He invited the children. Remarkable." And with a wave, she was gone.

Elsie shut the door, walked back to the kitchen. Grabbed herself another cup of tea and one of Daisy's delicious ginger biscuits. Walked back to the safety of her loveseat. She picked up the novel, and went back to the inscription, written there for her fortieth birthday:

"'To E. Hughes – I gift you the gift of the whole story, which is something we rarely get in life. Warmly, C. Carson.'"

"Nay, Charlie, we rarely get the _whole_ story. But if we're lucky, we get a few chapters we never even knew were written," she ran her fingers over the words he had written so long ago, the words that had shown her, so forcefully, that this man was paying attention to her, caring about her. Then she gently put it down, and went to get her coat and hat.

She had a trip to organize.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: CHELSIE LOVES. Listen, I had a great PM back-and-forth with ManyGreenTrees and I've changed the year from 1933 to 1937 (THANK YOU MGT!), so some things have changed in the first two chapters (mostly just ages and the fact that this would have been Chelsie's TWELFTH not EIGHTH wedding anniversary, which does matter a bit. No need to reread, just a general heads-up going forward.**

Elsie was going over the pantry and stores figures, as she usually did after the morning bustle at Downton. She wasn't here but three or four days a week anymore; she and Charlie had even been discussing her retirement over the past few months. She wasn't against retiring, generally speaking, but it felt different, with Charlie gone. What, exactly, would her days be filled with now? She pondered again how long she'd stay in the home they had shared, that little, snug cottage that had suited them just right. She decided she'd think about it in earnest _after_ the trip to Lytham St Annes.

Who, exactly, would replace here was another mystery; the house didn't really require a traditional housekeeper, not any longer. Charlie had stepped down from his role as docent a few months ago, and both she and Barrow thought, perhaps, the roles could be combined, by a younger man or woman who would take interest in both positions – docent and housekeeper. They had begun searching for such a person last month.

There was knock at her door, a distinctive one. Thomas Barrow, to be sure.

"Come in," she called, and set her ledger aside.

"Mrs. Hughes," Thomas greeted her, carrying a tea tray, which he set on her side table. "Morning."

"Thank you, kindly, Mr. Barrow," she replied, as he passed her a cup and saucer, with her tea just as she liked it: strong, with milk. She looked up at him, marveling at how much someone could change, once he set his mind to it. Thomas Barrow, well into his forties, appeared far younger than he had a dozen or so years ago, and it was all due to changes from the inside out.

There was an easiness, and openness, that contradicted all prior incarnations of himself. He was a man whose ghosts had mostly left him, and if there were still a few lingering, he'd made peace with them. He had approached his role as Downton's butler with enthusiasm, humility and kindness – especially considering Charlie, even when he didn't necessarily need to – and Elsie found him a pleasant and intelligent partner in running this household in an ever-changing world. And if he had a long-standing, special friendship with the man who ran the haberdashery in Ripon, what did she care? What should _anyone_ care, really?

"We've received a few viable responses to the new post," he handed her three opened letters, which she took eagerly, tucking them into her pocket. She'd read them at home; they would be a fine distraction from the silence of the cottage. "Two women, one man, all three keen and qualified, and able to speak on the telephone, for an initial conversation. I have a favorite, I'll say only that. Let's see if you select the same person."

She raised her eyebrow at him, and smiled at him over her teacup. "That sounds like a bit of trap, dare I say it, Mr. Barrow."

He smiled back, "Not at all, Mrs. Hughes. It would make me most comfortable if we align on whom your replacement will be." There was a flash of sadness on his face gone so quickly that she almost missed it. Almost.

"Aye, but in the end, he or she will be _your_ problem, not mine, Mr. Barrow. If they're all qualified, from my perspective, you'd do well to choose the one that suits _you_ best," she kept her voice light, trying to cajole him from his melancholy.

"Indeed, Mrs. Hughes," he sighed, sipped his tea, thoughtful. "Soon it will only be Mr. Bates and I left from the golden age of Downton."

"Now _there's_ irony for you, Mr. Barrow."

"I happen to hold Mr. Bates in high regard," Thomas replied, a bit self-consciously.

"Finally," she answered, and was glad to see him relax, grin a little.

"You will be missed, here, Mrs. Hughes," He finally said.

"Thank you, Thomas," she replied, using his Christian name intentionally. "I _will_ miss it, and the people here, to be sure."

"Perhaps…perhaps you could stop by for morning tea, once or twice a week, even after you've left?"

"Why, that's a lovely idea, Mr. Barrow," she replied, and he suddenly relaxed in a way that revealed to her that he'd wanted to suggest that for some time. "I'll review these letters and we can discuss how to move forward, once I've gotten back from Lytham St Annes on Wednesday." The trip was only four days away now.

"I was wondering…" Thomas trailed off, then continued. "I know that Master George will be traveling with you, but he is still quite young, and perhaps…perhaps I can accompany you ladies and the children, as a sort of formal escort?"

Elsie held back the tears that threatened. She didn't say that they would certainly be safe and situated just fine without him, which they would. She didn't tell him that his lordship had expressed a desire to attend as well, and Elsie had assured him that his presence would be an honor. She just nodded thoughtfully, deeply touched, knowing how much this man loved all of the children, both those of the staff and the family of this house and how deeply he had respected Charlie, and herself.

"I think that's a fine idea, Mr. Barrow. Thank you."

oooOOOooo

She was considering supper – whether she should dine alone at the cottage or accept the open invitation that the Bateses had extended – when there was a knock on her office door. John Bates, most likely, seeing if she'd walk home to dinner with him, to his waiting family.

"Come in."

The door swung open and Lady Mary Talbot stepped into her office. Still stylish, refined and sharp, but…Elsie had noticed that some of her edges were softening over the years, like a diamond encased in cotton.

"Mrs. Hughes," she shut the door behind her. "I am sorry to intrude…especially as it seems you are about to leave?"

"Not at all, m'lady," she nodded to her small side table. "Please, have a seat. May I get you a glass of wine?"

"Yes, thank you," Mary sat, her face somewhat distracted as Elsie handed her the drink. She sat across from her, waiting. After a few moments, Elsie broke the silence.

"Mr. Barrow had several promising letters, according to his account, for the new position," she began. "I've not had a chance to look them over, but will do so before the trip to Lytham St Annes. Then after, we'll begin interviewing in earnest."

"And you'll be leaving Downton," Mary sighed. "The last of an era." Her voice was light, but her eyes were sad. Elsie was touched.

"Well, you'll still have Mr. Barrow – and Mr. Bates," Elsie replied, smiling a little.

"What a pair," Mary deadpanned, and Elsie couldn't help it – she laughed. The younger woman's face broke into a grin, and Elsie understood, as she did every now and then, why Charlie had loved her so much.

"Now, Mrs. Hughes, about this trip –" she was interrupted by the door flying open and a dashing, blond, blue-eyed young man bursting into the room.

"Mama! Henny said I'd find you here," George Crawley had only ever known the man he lovingly referred to as "Henny" as his father, but these days, every time Elsie saw him, as often as that was, her breath was knocked out of her for a few moments. He was the spitting image of Matthew Crawley. Sometimes, she wondered how Lady Mary could stand it.

"George Crawley, manners," Mary said tersely, and waited. George looked sheepishly at his mother, then Elsie. Mary arched an eyebrow at him. He relented, went back out, and knocked politely. Mary held up her hand to Elsie, and both women grinned, then nodded.

"Come in," Elsie called.

"Mama, Mrs. Hughes," George entered, spoke sedately. "Good evening. I hope you are well?" He leaned over and kissed his mother's cheek.

"Very well, thank you Master George," Elsie replied, desperately trying not to laugh.

"What is it, George?"

"Well, Henny and Uncle Tom wanted to take the new model out for a spin – and, well I'd like to test her out, Mama. They say I'm ready, but they'd not carry on until I consulted you, of course," he grinned expectantly.

"Wise men, the pair of them," Elsie said, and she saw Mary trying not to laugh.

"I suppose its fine. But be _careful,_ George."

"Of course, Mama," he kissed her again, all puppyish energy, ready to be off. He caught Elsie's gaze. "Mrs. Hughes, I'm looking forward to Wednesday's adventure – I wonder what Foggie was up to?" His face softened, and he leaned over and kissed _Elsie's_ cheek this time. "Well, I'm off."

The door shut and the two women looked at each other for a moment.

"I wonder if I should be concerned that my children's champions are men named Donk, Henny and Foggie," Mary finally said, shaking herself out of the melancholic moment. She stood and wandered over to where Elsie had her photographs displayed. She picked up one of Becky, taken a few years before she died.

"This is your sister?"

"Aye, m'lady, that's Becky."

"And…whatever Carson had planned, it has to do with her, then?"

"I believe so, m'lady. Becky, as you know, well, her mind didn't work as well as ours, she was much like a young child most of her life. And she lived for a very long time at a place for people such as herself, in Lytham St Annes. The only other person privy to Charlie's grand anniversary gift plans was her long-time nurse, a woman named Kathryn Forster," Elsie explained.

Mary nodded, placed the picture carefully back on the shelf. She moved to another one, of Charlie on his own, a formal photo taken a few years ago in Downton's library. Elsie got up and gazed at it in Mary's hands. It was one of her favorites – he _looked_ so buttoned up, stuffy, almost, but there was something…about his eyes. Those were _her_ eyes, the way he looked at her, when they were on their own. _Her Charlie._

"He was quite handsome, my curmudgeon," she said, not really thinking. Just…marveling, at this man, who had been _her_ man, unofficially and officially, for so very long. Who still was.

Mary's gasp startled her. She glanced up at the other woman, and saw tears were streaming down her face. Noticed that the delicate, refined hands holding her husband's portrait were shaking. Elsie took it gently away from her, set it back in its place. Mary's hands, free now, immediately flew to her face. She was sobbing in earnest now.

"You…and Carson…loved each other, very much," Mary choked out.

"Aye, that we did, m'lady. I love him still," Elsie replied. The tears were close now.

Mary's hands fell away from her face. "I miss him, Mrs. Hughes. _So very much._ "

"As do I, m'lady, as I will until my last breath," she replied, and continued. "But he's set us this last adventure, and we shall see it through, shall we?"

Mary wept harder, and Elsie only paused for a moment. Then she stepped forward and put her arms around the lady of the house, who held her tightly, resting her tearstained face on Elsie's shoulder.

"It's alright, m'lady. Let it all out. I understand."


	4. Chapter 4

A Wednesday in May 1937

She finally roused herself off of the old loveseat as the sun crested the horizon. She'd tossed and turned, not merely due to lack of comfort, but to the addition of excitement.

Today was the day.

The trip to Lytham St. Annes.

She dressed and readied herself with the backdrop of the world awakening. Birdsong filtered in through the windows, along with the bright yellow light of late spring.

Charlie was everywhere, it seemed, today. She really could _feel_ his presence, in this, their home.

She made herself some toast and a pot of tea, ate it standing at the counter. She couldn't, didn't want to sit, and anticipated the requirement of doing so on the train. She'd stand, for now. Remain in motion. She went over to the cork board that was crammed with notes, ticket stubs, old photos, postcards and the other ephemera of life. Her hand drifted from picture postcard to a list of sums to an old photograph curled with age. She knew already that, after today, there would be something else to add to this, a loose account of her life with her husband.

"The acquisition of memories, my dear," she said out loud, and wiped the blasted tears away. She knew they'd stop, eventually, but made peace with the fact that they'd show up at any time, for a long while.

She was ready to go, to get started on this adventure, but there was still time. The traveling party would meet at the train station in a few hours. But she was restless. After she cleaned up her simple breakfast, she prowled the small house, fussing with things that didn't require fussing. Thankfully, she was saved from further madness by a knock at the door.

Before she could properly respond to it, Beryl bustled in, dressed for traveling to the seaside. "Did you sleep a'tall last night?" Her friend greeted her, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking closely at her face.

"A wee bit," she replied. "No mind, I'll drift off on the train."

"How you'll manage that, with a train car filled to the brim with yammering children, is beyond me," Beryl poured herself some tea, slurped it down. "Alright, then, let's walk into the village, clear our heads. I'll buy you a proper breakfast at the inn."

She waited whilst Elsie grabbed her spring coat and a hat, and they set off in the mild chill of the morning. Elsie knew it would burn off once the sun was high in the air. She loved this time of year, and the memories it brought, even this year, even today.

"Will Daisy be joining us?"

"Indeed she will, though she did admit to me, while the menfolk were outside, that she was feeling more tired with this baby than the last two. I says to her – as if I know anything a'tall about it, but never mind that – she's not as young as she was with Polly and Liam, and there was a bit o' a gap, since the last. Her body's just not used to it, any more," Beryl grinned at her as they walked. William, Daisy and Andy's youngest, was nearly six years old, his sister Polly, eight.

"A bit of a surprise, this little one." Beryl concluded.

"A happy surprise, I hope," Elsie responded.

"Oh, to be certain, in our house, children are _always_ a happy occurrence, though they seem to always be underfoot, even with just the two of 'em," Beryl grinned, softening her words.

"Beryl," she stopped for a moment. They were on the outskirts of the village now, and they both nodded at folks passing by on their way to their jobs, or early-morning errands. "Might I ask you something?"

"Well, you'll have to be more specific if yeh expect an answer."

"If – if I were to take you and Albert up on your kind offer to move in with you all, at the farm, could I feed the chickens?"

"Oh, ho, aren't yeh funny early in t'mornin'."

"I mean it. If ye were serious – I mean it. Would ye have me?"

Beryl paused mid-eye roll. "Yeh mean it? Of _course_ we'd have yeh, not a one of us likes the idea of you knockin' around that cottage all by yer lonesome." Her friend's eyes were filling with tears.

"Now ye _must_ stop that, immediately. There'll be enough crying all day, I'm afraid, and if we begin in earnest now, we'll never be fit for whatever's awaiting us in Lytham St Annes," Elsie chided, wiping her own cheeks dry. She was lucky, she was, to have so many people to love in her life, even if the person she loved most was gone.

"You talk it over with Albert, and Daisy and Andy, but I _do_ mean it. Really. I do need…I need a bit more time on my own in the cottage. As a sort of…goodbye…to Charlie. And to Downton, truth be told. Thomas Barrow and I are looking for my replacement, as we speak," she said, "So, you see, I'll be at your disposal by summer, before that surprise _bairn_ of Daisy's makes his or her entrance into the world."

"And the chickens?"

"Oh, I meant that. I like chickens, I do. Remember, I was a farm girl, in another century, long ago. I know of chickens," she shrugged, laughed.

"You're a bit mad, aren't you?"

"A bit," Elsie agreed. "And _I'm_ buying _you_ breakfast. Don't argue with a mad woman, you'll only lose."

"You'll fit right in at the farm, I'll tell you."

"Then it's settled. From housekeeper at Downton to chicken keeper at Yew Tree."

"Let's go eat. I think we'll _both_ need more than toast and tea to get through this day," Beryl shook her head, linked her arm with Elsie's, and they headed to breakfast.

oooOOOooo

The crowd on the train platform erupted into pure jubilation when they spotted the two women heading towards them. All of the children broke free from the group of adults, pelting towards them like a pile of young hunting dogs catching a whiff of a fresh scent, calling out to the pair of them, one on top of the other. George and Sybil laughed, followed the younger ones at a more sedate pace. His lordship, Lady Mary, Anna, Thomas and Daisy stood in an amused clump, shaking their heads.

"Em, Em, Mum says I can't stand on the train seats, but then I wonder how I'll ever _see_ everything, you must have a word with her," Liam was shouting his request to Beryl before he'd even stopped moving. Her crashed into her skirt, already tugging at it.

"Well, she's certainly right, yeh'll not be standing on any seats if I've anything to do with it, and yeh'll behave proper-like, as his lordship's accompanying us and –"

"That's just as _I_ said, Em, but he'd not listen to _me_ , nor Mum, no matter what we told him. I said to him, I said, the train moves so fast you'll not see much but a blur, in any case, that's what I said to him, Em, Aunt Elsie, but he'd not _listen_ , not a bit!" Polly looked between the two women for assistance, tugging one of her braids, but Elsie just grinned at Beryl and pulled the girl into a one-armed hug.

"It _does_ move quickly, Polly, but perhaps you'll all be able to see some of the scenery, in any case," Elsie assured the girl, then glanced over at Liam with a half grin. " _Without_ standing on any of the seats, of course."

"Aunt Elsie, Mama and Donk say you have _no idea_ what Foggie planned, and I told them, that's not possible, Mama, Donk, I know for certain how _sharp_ Aunt Elsie is, she doesn't miss a trick, she even noticed when I kept taking extra petit fours at Christmastime, which I know was _fine,_ it's Christmas, I said to them –" Reggie Talbot, nearly eleven, dark and lean like his parents, was seeking Elsie's confirmation that _of course_ she knew what was going on, then the reason he even called her "Aunt Elsie" and _not_ "Mrs. Hughes", as would be proper, spoke up.

"Reggie," Vivi Talbot began, so softly that her brother stopped talking so he could actually hear her. "Foggie intended for this trip to be a _complete_ surprise, so he kept it such. This has nothing to do with Aunt Elsie's being sharp." She smiled up at Elsie, who wrapped her other arm around the girl. There was a solemnness about her today that the other children were free of. Elsie knew how much she missed Charlie, who had doted endlessly on her.

At nearly nine, she was as poised as her mother had been at the same age, but softer, dreamy, almost. Elsie would often call her Miss Peasblossom, with a sideways glance and grin at Charlie. Vivi was a true fairy child, there was no doubt about that. And by dint of being her godfather, and no longer fully employed at Downton by the time she was born, the child had skipped calling him anything but Foggie. And it was impossible to be "Mrs. Hughes" to the child who called your husband Foggie. And…if _one_ Talbot child called them Foggie and Aunt Elsie, then why shouldn't both? And so it went…

"Aunt Elsie! Mrs. Mason! I've got a surprise, to get us started!" Will greeted them all with this pronouncement, shepherding his little sister along. He looked endlessly pleased with himself.

"Not the _song,_ Will. Enough with the _song,_ " Eliza rolled her eyes at him.

"What fun are _you_ then, Lizzie?" Her brother replied gruffly, and Elsie was about to intervene.

"I think the song is clever, Will," Vivi stepped away from Elsie, put her arm around Eliza. "And, if it's alright with Aunt Elsie, we can sing it for her, one time, at least." She smiled at the boy, and he grinned back. Eliza looked slightly mollified, if only because of Vivi's attention.

"That's a plan, Miss Vivi, I do believe," Will replied, glancing at her admiringly. "And, it's our right, I should think, as Foggie was your godfather, and Aunt Elsie is my godmother."

"Good lord, where is the train?" Beryl muttered, grinned at Elsie.

"Confining them to a train car won't make them any calmer, Mrs. Mason," Sybil noted, as she and George joined them.

"Good Morning, Miss Sybil, Master George," Elsie replied, grinning at them.

"What were we thinking, Mrs. Hughes, I ask you?" George rolled his eyes at the huddle of children, "Come on, you lot, his lordship's getting impatient to say hello to the guest of honor," he began herding them back towards the waiting adults.

"'Guest of honor?'" Reggie asked, as they reached them, his brow crinkling.

"Reg, honestly –"

"Good morning Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore!" Robert Crawley boomed out, greeting both of them with kisses on their cheeks. "We sent the honor guard out for you this morning." He smiled indulgently at the children around him.

"'Pardon me, m'lord, are you meaning Aunt Elsie and Em?" Liam piped up, looking confused.

"Indeed I do, good man Liam, and as Master George was saying, we _must_ remember who the guest of honor is today," and now Robert Crawley's face softened, saddened. Elsie knew how much he had cared for Charlie, esteemed him. Relied on him, for so long.

"This trip, children, was planned by Mr. Carson –"

" _Foggie,_ " Vivi said quietly to Will Bates, who shushed her with a grin. Her grandfather raised an eyebrow at her interruption, then continued with a small smile.

"This trip was planned, unbeknownst to any of us, for Mr. and Mrs. Carson's twelfth wedding anniversary. As he, sadly, is no longer with us, we will do well to honor his memory, and the life that he and his wife –"

"Mr. and Mrs. Foggie, more like," George whispered to the children, who went wild.

"George!" Robert, Mary and Sybil chided in unison. Robert looked horrified, until he caught Elsie's gaze, her cheeks wet with tears of mixed emotion, laughing. _Mrs. Foggie, indeed. Aye, Charlie, you_ are _here, my dear, even if we cannot see you._

"The song!" Will exclaimed.

"Alright then, William John Bates, give us all you've got," Elsie responded. "The train should be here momentarily." She glanced over at the adults, and added, "Hopefully." Everyone laughed.

"Miss Vivi?" The girl stepped forward and joined him. "Ready?"

She nodded, and they both began singing in earnest:

"Foggie, he would a-wooing go,  
Heigh ho! says Rowley,  
A frog he would a-wooing go,  
Whether Aunt Elsie would let him or no.  
With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,  
Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

So off he set with his anniversary plans,  
Heigh ho! says Rowley,  
He was cleverer than most any man,  
Set for the seaside, but not to get tan,  
With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,  
Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

And here we all are, to board the train,  
Heigh ho! says Rowley,  
To travel, be it sunny, clouds or rain,  
Thinking of him, again and again,  
With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,  
Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley!"

And as the train pulled into the station, and the applause erupted, she knew it wasn't _really_ for the children, as clever and kind as they were, or for her – it was for Charlie.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 **A/N: Hey loves! So this is it. The final chapter of this epilogue-of-sorts to AHoM. I definitely can see myself going back and writing more little ficlets like this about Charlie and Elsie's life together (yes, while he's still alive!), little situations and events that I didn't touch on in the "big story". I hope you enjoy the surprise as much as Elsie does!**

 **~CeeCee**

It wouldn't last, Elsie knew, but the train car was nearly silent at the moment. All of the adults, George and Sybil kept glancing sideways at each other, as if they couldn't quite believe it.

The children were rapt with attention, staring at Kathryn Forster.

The nurse had met them on the train to escort them to Lytham St Annes. Elsie had always felt the woman made an impression, but she'd never really seen her around little ones before. She held them in thrall. It was her size, and those eyes – but it was also just _her,_ the intense kindness and energy that came off her in waves.

"I am _so_ glad you all are here," she began, her voice low and soothing. "My name is Kathryn, and I am a nurse."

"Are we going to a hospital for the surprise?" Liam wondered.

"We are not," Kathryn smiled at him. "You must be William Parker."

"I am! How d'you know that?" He squinted his eyes at her a little. "Miss…ma'am…are you….are you…magic?" He stared up into her bright blue eyes.

"No, Master Parker, I am not, though you may see things later today that seem like magic. I am a nurse, but I don't work in a hospital. I live and work in Yorkshire, though for a very, very long time, I worked at a special place for special people, by the seaside, where we are going. People whose bodies are all grown up, but whose minds are very similar to yours and your friends. We'll probably see some of these people today, at Lytham St Annes, by the sea, which is where we are going," Kathryn paused, caught the eyes of the adults, nodded a little.

Elsie realized she wasn't going to belabor the point, but the children would see and be around people like Becky, at least for part of the day. Now she realized why Kathryn had been so touched by Charlie inviting the children. _Oh, my dear, I will_ not _spend this day mired in regret, but I do wish you were here. I'd kiss you but good, right in front of all of these dear children, his lordship and your blessed Lady Mary, and not pay them any mind a'tall._

"Do they like music, and singing, these special people?" Will Bates piped up.

"Indeed they do – are you William Bates, soon to be famous of stage and screen?" Kathryn replied. Will reddened, and shook his head.

"Oh, but Nurse Forster, Will _is_ so clever, he writes songs and everything!" Vivi responded.

" _Which_ you can regale us with once we arrive seaside, I believe, William," Anna interjected, catching Kathryn's gaze, smiling a little.

"Why don't we all play a game?" Kathryn announced, and they all gathered around her, crowding to get closer. She arranged them in two facing seats and began whispering and gesturing elaborately to them.

"She's a regular Pied Piper, that woman, Mrs. Hughes," his lordship called from his seat besides Mary.

"I don't think young Liam was far off, m'lord, calling her magic," Elsie replied. She leaned back in her own seat, considered trying to doze off. But she was now fully awake, ready and eager to see what the day brought to her, what _Charlie_ brought to her. She could hear light snoring behind her, and craned her neck to look around. Daisy was fast asleep on Beryl's shoulder, who was holding her hand. _As close to mother and daughter as the genuine articles¸_ she thought, as she grinned at her friend.

She was gazing out the window, watching the green countryside roll by, when Thomas Barrow startled her by sitting down next to her.

"I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Not at all Mr. Barrow. I was just woolgathering."

"You didn't say his lordship would be here today," he kept his voice light.

"Didn't I? Well, he's here, and so are you, and we're quite glad to have you both," she replied, and smiled at him. She paused, then placed her hand on the cuff of his coat.

"Alice Jenkins," she said decisively.

"She was your favorite?" Thomas responded. He looked disappointed.

"Ah, but she wasn't _yours_ , was she, Mr. Barrow? Let me see…your first choice was Penelope Smith," she grinned at him, and he nodded.

"I was very much hoping we'd be in agreement on your replacement," he answered, "And yes…I liked all three of the candidates whose letters I gave you, but Mrs. Smith was my first choice."

"And we may _still_ be in agreement before the decision has been made. Time – and meeting all three of them, perhaps a few others – will tell," she said, "While it certainly wouldn't be a _bad_ thing if I had selected the same candidate as you, the fact that I chose someone else, offers something invaluable, to both of us – _perspective_. It's good to see things from others' perspectives, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Barrow? Especially those of people who value you work, who value _you?"_

Thomas looked uncomfortable and pleased and embarrassed all at once. He cleared his throat, looked at her, looked away, then looked at the children gathered around Kathryn.

"What do you suppose Mr. Carson had planned?" He asked her, still not catching her eye.

"I've not the faintest, Mr. Barrow,' she replied, and her voice caught just slightly in her throat. "But I _do_ know that it has something to do with my sister, and people like her. Someone that Mr. Carson, dear, blessed, generous man that he was, might never have considered, if he'd not been married to me. If he'd not _loved_ me," she blinked away the tears that threatened, not wanting to embarrass either herself or Thomas.

"Had he not considered another person's perspective," Thomas replied, stood up. Then he did something that surprised and moved her: he leaned over, took her hand, and kissed the back of it. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, for everything."

"Aye, you're welcome Mr. Barrow. And – you're learning, I think."

oooOOOooo

They were here, at Lytham St Annes.

It was a beautiful town, and Elsie's eyes darted around as the crowd of them made their way towards the seaside promenade, with Kathryn in the lead. She'd never love this seaside town as much as she loved another – Scarborough – but, to be fair, the place she and Charlie had honeymooned would always be magical to her.

They had reached the sprawling, tall building that was the home for the simple-minded where Becky had lived most of her life, before Kathryn and her husband, James, had moved Becky and several other patients to a small home in Yorkshire.

The children were bouncing around, taking in the sights, little bursts of song and dance exploding here and there. Everyone stopped and gazed up at the building.

"Is there where we're going, Nurse Forster?" Lord Robert asked.

"No, m'lord, you can't see from here, but _just_ around the bend" is the seaside. We'll walk around now – but I'd very much like Elsie to walk up front, with me?" Kathryn caught her gaze, and suddenly Elsie's heart began to pound with excitement.

Amidst cheers and shouts of "Aunt Elsie!" and Mrs. Foggie!" she walked towards Kathryn, who took her hand.

"He really was a special person, wasn't he?" The nurse whispered to her.

"The best, really. It's quite as simple as that," Elsie whispered back, holding back tears.

"Let's go, then," Kathryn replied. "Come along, everyone!"

The boisterous, joyful, excited group of them rounded the corner, towards the seaside promenade and the sea itself. Elsie felt a sort of calm wash over her as the ocean breeze tried to blow her hat from her head, teased stray strands of hair around her face. The chattering and singing of their group was complimented by the crash of the surf, the cry of the sea birds.

And then.

Then she saw them. All along the beach were dozens and dozens of people: patients from the seaside home for the simple-minded where Becky had lived, their caretakers, and, it looked like, their families. Some of them were sitting, as Becky had done the last time Elsie had seen her here, when she'd met Charlie. Others were standing in pairs and small groups. However, most were in motion, running in bursts along the surf.

Because.

Because, because, because:

For every person in the sand, there was a corresponding fluttering, colorful, winged creature in the sky, swooping, diving, waving, steady, then diving, all around each other, in a riot of colors. Elsie's breath caught, stuck in her throat. She realized their entire group had fallen silent as they gazed into the sky.

"Liam," Vivi whispered, after a few moments. "Liam, I think you were right – it's magic. What are they, exactly, Donk?"

Lord Robert walked over to his granddaughter, put his arm around her. His face was as full of wonder and awe as hers. "They're kites, my darling. Special kites, made to look like birds and butterflies and –"

"Dragons! I see dragons, m'lord!" Eliza Bates.

"Indeed, I see them too, my dear girl," Robert gazed over at Elsie. "Extraordinary. Well done, Carson."

Elsie smiled at him. All of the tears she had cried - and all of the ones she hadn't – over the past month or so had vanished as she watched the kites flying through the air. _Oh, Charlie, you dear, dear man,_ she thought, put one hand on her heart.

"Where on Earth did he ever find them? I've never seen kites so beautiful in my life," Anna had her arm around Will. They were both staring up at the fabric insects and birds.

"He had them shipped here," Kathryn replied, smiling down at Elsie. "Mostly from the Far East. He wanted them because –" she stopped suddenly.

Lady Mary was crying, for all to see. Not the heart-rending sobs that had overtaken her in Elsie's office the other evening, but she was struggling to regain her composure.

"Mama?" George went over to her, offered her his handkerchief, placed his hand on her shoulder. She reached out, stroked his cheek, once.

"I'm alright, darling," she smiled at her son, then turned to Elsie, took a shaky breath. "You might remember, some of you, that Henry and I were married the same year as the Carsons. So _we'll_ be celebrating our twelfth wedding anniversary this year as well. And the gift for a twelfth wedding anniversary is…silk."

Elsie sighed, gazed back up at the beautiful kites swooping and dipping overheard, and back at Lady Mary.

"You are right, m'lady," Kathryn replied. "They are all made of silk. For a twelfth wedding anniversary." She smiled at Mary, then at Elsie.

"Poor Henry, whatever he has planned, it'll never live up to _this,_ " Mary intoned, and the whole group laughed.

"Now…" Kathryn began. "Who wants to fly a kite?" There were several people walking towards their group, their arms full of exotic and riotously hued silk creatures. The children clamored around them, trying to determine which of the beautiful creations each wanted.

"Just a minute!" Will called out. "We _must_ give the most beautiful one to Aunt Elsie!" His compatriots cried out in agreement; however, it was several moments before they decided on the best one: a butterfly with bold black patterns, softened by hues of blues and greens.

"You all chose _very_ well, I thank you," and she leaned over and kissed each cherished head before sending them back for their own. Most of the adults drifted over to help the children with their selections, and Elsie overheard his lordship enthusiastically asking if _he_ could also fly his own kite. She stifled a laugh as Kathryn came over to her again. They were alone, for the moment.

"Thank you, so very, very much," Elsie said, and took her hand, carefully shifting her kite to the other. "From _both_ Charlie and I."

"Sometimes, many times, there's _nothing_ we can do to ease someone's pain, hurt, confusion – but this, _this_ , was something I could see through. It may have started as _your_ gift, but it's more than that now," Kathryn replied. "You, the children, all of you – take your kites with you. The others, Charlie has bequeathed to this place, for these people." She looked out on the beach, raised her hand in greeting to several folks that were waving at her, including a tall, bearded man in his sixties.

"And come, come back here, as often as you'd like. That's James, there, he's brought a few of the Yorkshire residents, who were able, for an outing as well," Kathryn added, her face soft, gesturing to the bearded man assisting several patients.

"Now, are we all settled and set?" She turned to the group and received a resounding response, and the children broke free, running into the dunes and sand, calling out hellos and greetings to the folks already on the beach. Will, Reggie and Vivi broke out into another cobbled-together verse of "A Frog He Would A-Wooing Go" and one of the seated kite fliers exclaimed,

"I know that song! I do, I do!" A middle-aged man with a soft, round face that matched his body. His kites was a red and gold dragon.

"Let's teach you a special verse, all about Mr. and Mrs. Foggie!" Elsie heard Will exclaim, stopping by the man and his caretaker, already beginning his song.

Elsie took her time walking down the dunes, trying to see and hear everything, all of it. She realized that Beryl was walking alongside her, clutching her own kite, in hues of pink and orange. They found an open spot, not far from Daisy, who was relaxing in a beach chair, watching Polly and Liam run back and forth, their kites diving, then regaining air.

The two friends stood there for a moment in silence, listening to the rumble of the surf, feeling the breeze dance on their skin, the laughter, shrieks and songs of the children up and down the length of the beach. Finally, Beryl spoke:

"You'll remember, I think, the little errand you sent me on a dozen or so years ago, before you got married?"

"Indeed I do. How terribly unfair that was, to _all_ of us. Have I ever apologized for that, Beryl? More than once, even?"

"Yeh may have, but I wasn't fishin' for an apology, a'tall," Beryl caught her eye, and Elsie was surprised to see her friend was in tears.

"Beryl?"

"Don't mind me, really," she wiped the tears away with one hand, clutched her kite more tightly in the other. "All's I was going to say, was – was that while _I_ was so embarrassed I nearly hoped the floor would swallow me up, _Mr. Carson_ , he wasn't embarrassed at all. I can just remember, so clearly, him a'sittin' there, hands folded, very serious, very _earnest,_ very, very Mr. Carson-like, if you catch my understanding. And what I _remember_ is not being embarrassed, well, not really, but seeing how _proud_ he was, that you were a'going to marry him, as if he could scarce believe his luck."

Beryl paused, and Elsie felt the tears finally start falling. But they felt good – they felt _right._

"All I really remember from that conversation was being struck, full in the face, by how much he loved you," Beryl finished. "We didn't always see eye to eye, me and Mr. Carson, but he was a good man, a great man, really. And yes, seeing how much the pair of you loved each other, well, it was quite extraordinary, it was."

She paused, and they both took shaky breaths, then grinned at each other.

"Now, do you have a clue how to get these beautiful contraptions in the air?"

Elsie grinned, "Not exactly, but I think we can give it a try, can't we Beryl?"

"Indeed, Elsie," Beryl responded, unwinding the gossamer kite string. "Let's make these beauties fly, for Mr. Carson, eh?"

"Aye, for Charlie, let's fly."


End file.
